Heroes
by cantalyne
Summary: CH 3 UP--the continuation of behind and paradox... when amalthea is split into two, can she be what she was to those who want her?
1. Two

author's note: well, here it is... the third installment of the saga that began with "behind" and continued in "paradox." read those two stories before you read "heroes" or else nothing that you read here will make ANY sense whatsoever. yeah, i know, i'm a slave driver... please, please, PLEASE review--it makes me ever so happy. ^_^ not to mention it encourages me to keep writing... thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my series of TLU fics. in the immortal words of adam carolla: enjoy.   
  
::Heroes::  
  
"This has gotten ridiculous."  
  
Molly Grue didn't answer, save the small sigh that mingled with the steam rising from her cooking pot, and that was too shy a sound to rise above the steady crackle of the cooking fire.  
  
"We're together again... like she wanted. So she went through a very... traumatic experience. Understood. But no one -died-."  
  
The sigh again.   
  
"And I've heard of some pretty strange reactions to... trauma, but this is just a bit much, isn't it?"  
  
"Lir," said Molly finally, "if you don't hush up this instant I'll stab you with a ladle, see if I don't. Why don't you go out and slay a dragon; bring her the head. Maybe that will anger her into speaking," she added spitefully.  
  
With a great show of dignity, Lir seethed his way out of the kitchen.  
  
"Schmendrick." Molly tugged at the magician's starry robes unabashedly. "Schmendrick, put down your blasted cards and listen to me for once!"  
  
Schmendrick looked up at the woman, his visage overrun by hunted worry. "What do you want?" he said tersely, not himself at all.  
  
"She's been back at the castle for a month now, and still not a word for her, no sign of life save the shake of a head, 'yes' or 'no.' Can't you do anything for her? It's your magic that--"  
  
"--that got her into this mess, yes, I KNOW!" Schmendrick spat with a vehemence undercharacteristic, the flopping tip of his pointed hat momentarily straightening with the concentrated force of his rage. "My God, woman, do you think I don't know that? Do you think I haven't noticed? After all, it's only the third time I've violated her form!" He laughed, and it was bitter.  
  
Molly's careworn face softened a bit, adding a quiet luminosity to her eyes that belied her gruff exterior. "I know," she said gently, "I know. You can't blame yourself."  
  
"Why not?" Schmendrick muttered caustically. "It's easy."  
  
In answer, Molly grabbed the man's hand and yanked him to the window, turning him to the proper angle for seeing what she wished him to see. "Look at her," she said with the intense calm that was her special talent. "Look at how still she is, how silent. She is pale and glows almost ghostly. What if she dies? Will you add that to your list of regrets?"  
  
I can sorrow, but I cannot regret.  
  
He whispered, "What good is magic if it cannot save a unicorn?"  
  
She understood. "Even heroes sometimes fail."  
  
He whispered, "Does she cry?"  
  
She understood. "Never."  
  
He dipped his horn in the clear water, and it cleared, pure. "Come, drink," he implored her, guiding her with utmost tenderness to the edge of the stream. She complied mutely, as she always did, foldly her long deer legs beneath her... she was so weak.  
  
"Shhh..." The salty drops fell, one, then many. "Shhh, don't cry..." Koshayn nuzzled her cheek gently, sorrow welling within his heart. "Don't cry...."  
  
To be continued.... 


	2. Red

wow... this certainly went in an entirely different direction from what i ever expected. if i knew what terrible abuse i was going to put these poor characters through... well, this new installment is quite... unconventional. and very rated r. please review... my mind took me to unexpected--and darker--places; i'd like to know what you think.

Her deep lilac eyes were unfocused and unseeing, reflecting nothing--not even the foam that crested the waves on the beach. The lifeless gaze mocked the gentle rise and fall of her bare chest, sign that she was living, and breathing, in her chaotic nest of torn cloth that fanned out around the unadulterated whiteness of her skin, her limps sprawling limp among the shreds. The remains of her gown were just as snowy; in the dying moonlight, so was the sand, and the surf.

The only color of the scene was the red between her legs.

_"Speak, damn you! Speak to me!"_

It was Molly who found her, of course, found the cold body of the girl where it lay in the incoming tide, just another swirl of foam in the moody waters. She carried the slight burden inside, lay her charge upon the bed, and covered her with a blanket. Besides this, she did nothing.

_He was touching her face, though she would not look at him._

_"What do you see?"_

_He reached out and softly placed one long finger on her chin, turned her head to look at him. Again (but perhaps with another meaning): "What do you see?"_

_ She was silent, in the moonlight, and her expression had not changed._

"I know you better than this. I know you love her. I don't approve of what you did to her before, but you did it because you love her..."

_He placed the hand on her cheek now and pushed her face away, gently--but she could feel the boiling vat of anger and frustration and waylaid dreams behind the tenderness. "We love each other," he said to her, his voice also seeting with that same dangerous combination. "I have done everything to get you back, and I have--and I know you love me too. I know it."_

"You wanted her back. You thought it would fix everything."

_"I know it! God damn you, I know it!"_

"But that was violence. Sheer violence."

_She flinched at his touch; she couldn't help it. All that ire... she couldn't help it. _

_He drew back--that hurt, too. He said, "Why do you shiver at my touch? If you must shiver, should it not be a shiver of passion--of love? Yet you tense as though--as though I disgust you." His words were bitter--that hurt, too._

"I knew your obsession was unhealthy, but I thought it was understandable. I thought because it was understandable, it must be... allowed to run its course. I didn't think... I thought I knew you better than that."

_It was too much for her, too much to take for a shell that was too full to be mindless and too empty to be complete; she turned her face away, and her white hair whipped all around her in the sea breeze._

"She's... she's not the one you love. Not like this. Not like the half-living creature you had Schmendrick create for you. God... don't you know how much he regrets that? If he could kill himself and make her whole again, he would do it."

_She knew he was going to do it before he did. She felt the lancing pain of the arrows his words formed._

_"Why won't you speak to me? Frigid... frigid BITCH!"_

_Had he ever spoken like that? To her? To anyone? There was too little of her within this half to care._

"What she is now... there are only bits and pieces of woman within her. She's not Amalthea anymore. And what you did to her... My God..."

_There was pain, and there were bruises. She heard cloth rip. When it was over, she lay in the sand, still lacking enough self._

"My God, Lir. That was rape."

to be continued...


	3. Empty Shell

wow. 'tis been awhile. such neglect... thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review; you guys are more awesome than you can possibly know.   
  
In between the brown bark of the trees, he could see silver-white that could belong to nothing usual. He ducked under a branch; it swatted at him reproachfully but let him pass. Into the presence of the unicorn.  
  
He was tall, and beautiful, a beauty that transcended nature and adjective. His was a beauty that defied sex--it was gossamer: delicately, utterly masculine. He looked just like her, and looked more unlike her than the very embodiments of yin and yang. Half and whole.   
  
Halves, yes. And that was why they were here.  
  
First, formalities. He doffed his hat. "Koshayn," he said gravely.  
  
The other afforded the man a great honor: he bowed, the tip of his translucent-moon horn scratching the dirt; the scraping noise was like a profanity. He was proud, but things had changed--how they had changed!--and now he was humbled. Once, we were perfect... we were even perfect in the sea... "Schmendrick. Thank you for seeing me."  
  
The magician sighed lightly. "As if I had a choice."  
  
"There is always a choice." The unicorn raised his head and regarded Schmendrick sideways, one wise eye trained in careful scrutiny. "We must control our choice. You know this perhaps better than anyone."  
  
"Yes. Yes, I do."  
  
"Then you know..." Koshayn stopped, hesitating over the magnitude of what he needed to say but knew not how, or where to begin. "Your... your Amalthea," he said finally. "What... what is she like? I mean to say... is she acting... like herself?"  
  
Schmendrick sank onto a rock, elbows driving into his knees, head in his hands. "She is... she is as close to a ghost as one might be while still living." He had a nasty feeling he knew where this was heading. And a nastier feeling that they both knew what had to be done. Still, to ensure this, he had a question. A question that would hurt as much as his own answer before. "And... your...?"  
  
Koshayn looked away; the night breeze rustled the leaves in the trees but steered around him, whistling past without disturbing his body. Even as the quiet moan mourned, his mane and tail hung still, as if he, two, were a ghost. "If... once... we were sea foam... if once, we sang the song of the ocean... Amalthea is... a seashell. A perfect seashell, whole and lovely, but what lived inside it is dead, not so much as rotting remains to bury and thus be done. You can hold it to your ear and hear the ocean calling, but it's not real, and you can't help but wonder... was it ever?"  
  
The wind slacked off, ceased its crying, and it left behind an empty silence, an aching hollow. They stood together, man and unicorn, pieces of opposite worlds that perhaps never should have met. How can the perfect be perfect once exposed to imperfection? How can the imperfect strive for perfection when they have seen it and know that they cannot have it yet?  
  
"I don't know how much longer I can care for her," Koshayn said slowly, reluctantly, but it was the truth, and he could tell it. "She's... empty. She doesn't want to die... nor does she want to live. She merely is." He glanced away. "This... hurts." A pause. "I have never... hurt. Before."  
  
"No." Schmendrick ran a hand through his hair. "But it makes everything else worth it, somehow." He turned his hat over in his hands, tracing the brim with one finger. "You know what has to be done, don't you? You know... too."  
  
The horn dipped. "I do. And soon. But I confess to not knowing how."  
  
"I'll have to bring... human Amalthea with me. I don't know how I'll get her away... but somehow I'll do it. We will come to this forest clearing as soon as we can. You will be nearby?"  
  
"We will." It was spoken with such firm resolve that Schmendrick was heartened despite himself. It felt better knowing there was a plan, even if it was sketchy at best. It made him feel a little less helpless. It gave him the courage to venture another question, and a touchy one.  
  
"May I see her? Just for a moment."  
  
Koshayn's response was to stride out of the clearing, and Schmendrick had to scramble madly to keep up with him; doubtless he would have lost the stallion in moments had the distance not been so luckily short.   
  
"Here."   
  
And he gazed at her.  
  
Her appearance was little different, no less fine, no less white. She was sprawled on her side, eyes closed, neck stretched vulnerably, lashes fluttering, perhaps in dream. She would have looked only like herself, if the gray tear tracks hadn't marred her cheek.  
  
Yet thank God--there was no blood.  
  
He had come very close to telling Koshayn--what happened to the other Amalthea. If this worked, it would be part of her... whichever her there happened to be. Somehow, though... Whether it was the stallion's imposing presence or his suprisingly tender care of his Amalthea, Schmendrick couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now, anyway. Not now.  
  
Was this what King Haggard had once seen? Two unicorns in a lilac wood, and a love he had to make his own?  
  
Schmendrick straightened, replaced his hat upon his head. "I will come as soon as I can. You have my word."  
  
And he would. He had to.  
  
to be continued....  
  
if you want more, review! pleeeeease? 


	4. Toward Home

_Amalthea. I'm taking you home now._

_I'm not sure what I mean by home. Lilac wood, Koshayn, your other body? They say home is where the heart is, but I cannot say where that is either. Lir thought it was here, with him, and he was partly right--and has part of you. But part was not enough, for you or for him, and in his frustration and pain he violated you._

_I am not his apologist, but I feel the need to... defend him? Explain? You musn't judge Lir too harshly... no, you would do no such thing. Or would you? Perhaps I am projecting, anthropomorphizing. Yet there is human in you, somewhere, this you acknowledge yourself, and if you blame him... well, you have every right to do so. Still, Lir is not just a little mad, and he loved you. He did this, all of this, out of love. Love gone mad._

_Even now, I fear he will come upon me, in your room, wrapping you up like a bundle. He is like an animal; he may smell your departure... so we must be quick. It feels wrong to sling you over the bow of the saddle in such a manner, but I fear if I do not secure you in some manner you will slip off, and we don't have the time._

_Faster, faster, faster..._

_If you fell, would you bleed again?_

*

"Molly."

"Not who you were expecting."

He dipped his horn. "No."

"Schmendrick is under suspicion... it seemed safer for me to take her. He will be along soon."

"And... Lir?"

She hesitated. "I... I don't know..."

*

It was the part of the morning between the moon and sun: one has gone down and the other has still to come up. Molly napped fitfully against the warm side of Koshayn, his long legs curled under him and his large eyes trained sleeplessly, watchfully on two broken pieces.

They were stretched out beside each other, unicorn prone on her side, girl on her back. Strands of human hair twined with the silvery mane so seamlessly it was difficult to distinguish between them. Amalthea had flung one arm away in sleep, and it draped over the slender neck of her counterpart, one as white as the other. It was as if they were slowly blending back into one being, liquifying, melting together. 

And then Schmendrick was with them. He said atop his horse, face drawn, looking not just a little bit tired and sore and weary.

He had Lir with him, eyes droopy with drug or spell, barely conscious, his arms tied behind his back at the elbow. 

Molly only stared as Schmendrick slithered off the horse; Koshayn rose gravely but made no move toward the pair. 

Schmendrick clumsily dragged Lir to the ground, supporting most of the other man's weight as he was slowly lowered to the ground. On the ground, he looked more like Lir: young and sleepy, easy-going, at peace with the world. He didn't even turn his head to Amalthea.

Koshayn eyed the scene warily, one hoof raised as if to strike. "What--" and then he fell.

"Schmendrick!"

"Well," he said lightly. "It seems I can still magick a unicorn into a stupor. Don't worry," he added, noting Molly's concern, "neither will suffer any ill affects... from the spell, at least."

"What... what are you doing?" She hated herself for the tremor in her voice.

The magician extended his hands, made fists, dropped them to his sides, radiated tension. "She chooses," he said tightly, "and she chooses now."

to be continued... if you're nice to me.... ^_-


End file.
